Making Your Life Better
by Pickwick12
Summary: Emma Approved-verse. All about the ways Alex has taken care of Emma throughout her life. Now more than a one-shot.
1. Making Your Life Better

**A/N: Alex is eight years older than Emma here. I'm not sure what their exact age difference is supposed to be, but it worked for what I wanted to do. **

**Five Years Old**

Alex is home alone, studying for a history test, when he hears Izzy Woodhouse scream. As quickly as he can, he sprints outside and past the shrubs that line the Knightley property, coming up short and breathless and almost running straight into Izzy in the Woodhouse's front yard. She's hysterical.

"Emma—Emma fell off the swing in the back, and she hurt her ankle. I don't know what to do." She's only nine, after all, and looking after her active sister while their single father puts in long hours would be hard on anyone.

"It's ok, Izzy," Alex says, putting on his most commanding tone. "Go inside and call 911 right now. I'll stay with Emma."

He's not sure what he's going to find, but when he rounds the side of the house, he sees the younger Woodhouse leaning against the pole that holds her swingset together, crying miserably, with her leg at a funny angle.

Alex doesn't want to move her, so he sits down next to her as gently as he can and puts his arm around her. She leans into him, and he holds her until the ambulance comes.

**Ten Years Old**

It's Alex's graduation party. He's the valedictorian of his class, just like everyone expected, and for once in his life, he's the center of attention. There's only one problem: He can't find Emma. You can always find Emma Woodhouse. She's the life of everybody's party, talking to everyone, making the quiet people laugh. She's always everywhere, but suddenly she isn't anywhere, and that worries him.

Finally, he finds her, sitting on the third step of the front staircase, with her legs curled under her, crying softly into the tulle skirt of her party dress. He sits down beside her, and she looks up at him with a red face and puffy eyes.

"What's wrong, Emma?" he asks gently.

"Susie Lewis stole my boyfriend," she sobs. Sure enough, he remembers seeing a very smug-looking Susie holding the hand of a frankly scared-looking little boy just a few moments before.

"You're ten years old. Why do you even need a boyfriend?" Alex asks, shaking his head.

"It's fourth grade!" she sniffles indignantly. "Everybody has a boyfriend."

"You know something," he says, putting his arm around Emma, "it doesn't matter if everybody else has a boyfriend. You don't need one."

"Why not?" she asks, leaning into his shoulder.

"Because you're Emma Woodhouse, and that means you're perfect on your own," he answers, wishing he could protect her from ever feeling like that might not be true.

**Fifteen Years Old**

Alex is home on a break from business school. He wonders over to the Woodhouses' to see if anybody is around, but everything is quiet. He tries the front door just to make sure, and it gives. A quick poke of his head into the house finds everything dark and a single figure heaped onto the front room sofa.

"Emma?" he asks, recognizing the size and shape.

She looks up, and he sees that she's been crying, probably for a long time. "Alex, Izzy's going to leave me. John proposed, and now she's going to get married and move away."

"I know," he answers, sitting down beside her and wrapping his arm around her. "I thought you'd be ok with it. You'll still see her all the time, and you'll be, like, the queen. You'll have this whole house and all your dad's money to do whatever you want with." He's trying to cheer her up. Being snarky usually works.

"Are you sure?" she asks, snuggling against him.

"You bet," he answers. "It's going to be great."

Then, from against his shirt, "You've been working out."

"I'm glad you still have your priorities straight," he says drily.

**Twenty Years Old**

Alex spends another summer night eating dinner at the Woodhouses'. He lives in Highbury now, the position of VP at Mr. Woodhouse's flagship company a natural transition after getting his MBA, but sometimes he thinks he might want to do something different—something, dare Alex Knightley say it, a little bit _risky_.

This particular night, he breaks away from Izzy's discussion of the second trimester of pregnancy and goes out to the front porch to find Emma. She's a little more subdued these days than she was when she was a child, but it's not like her to drift away from a family party.

"Are you ok?" he asks, taking his place beside her as she leans against the porch railing and stairs out into the dusky night.

"I'm fine," she answers, wiping her eyes. When she turns to him, he can see tears glistening on her cheek. "It's just—nights like tonight are so perfect. I wish my mom was here."

"Oh, Emma, I'm so sorry," he says, putting his arm around her and cradling her head to his shoulder.

"It's fine," she says again. "I just don't remember her that well any more, and I wish I did."

"You're a lot like her," Alex says. He remembers Mrs. Woodhouse well.

"How so?" Emma asks, her voice shaky.

"She always wanted to help everybody she knew, and she made people happy just by being around them."

**Twenty-Five Years Old**

Alex finishes up his last spreadsheet and turns off his office light, basking in the glow of tasks thoroughly accomplished. Emma should be long home by now, basking in her own glow at the success of the party and the year just passed. She deserves to bask, he thinks, since they've increased happiness and earned enough profit to please even his exacting standards.

Except, when walks into the hall, he sees a light on. Emma's light. As he comes up to her door, something even more ominous greets him: The unmistakable signs of organizing. Emma Woodhouse only organizes when she's trying not to cry.

"I failed" is all it takes to tell the tale. He doesn't tell her he saw it coming. After all, only someone as kind as Emma could have seen the best in James Elton and thought it could match the best in Harriett Smith.

Alex sits down beside her. Just like before and like always, he puts his arm around her, and she leans into him. Neither of them says anything else, and nothing needs to be said. He just holds her for a long, long time, because if there's one thing Alex Knightley is good at, it's making Emma Woodhouse's life better.


	2. Badly Done

**A/N: Thanks for all the great feedback from the first chapter. I'd planned on leaving it a one-shot, but I couldn't resist continuing. I'm loving the latest installments of "Emma Approved," and I hope all of you are too! **

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><p><strong>Seven Years Old<strong>

"Emma! No!"

She's used to Izzy's voice, hearing it and disregarding it and going on doing whatever it is she wants to do. But this is different; this voice is someone else's. Emma stops in her tracks as Alex Knightley, her neighbor, sprints into her yard and makes a beeline for her. She resists a little bit as he plucks her from a branch a third of the way up on her favorite tree. Alex is big, though, practically a grownup, and he easily sets her on the ground in front of him and keeps hold of her thin shoulders.

"What do you think you're doing, Emma Woodhouse?"

"I like that tree, Mr. Knightley," she replies, sticking her tongue out at him. He rolls his eyes. He always does that when she calls him "Mr. Knightley." She doesn't know that the thing that annoys someone most can become, well, their favorite thing. After a while.

"You know you're not allowed to climb trees when your dad isn't around." Alex continues his lecture with all the solemnity of someone four times his age.

"But you're here," says Emma, cocking her head defiantly.

"Come on," he says, taking her hand forcefully. "I'll read to you until your sister gets home. Maybe you won't give me a heart attack that way."

"Badly done, Emma," he says, looking back at her before he starts the trek to his own house. But she only grins. She likes his voice when he reads to her.

**Thirteen Years Old**

"This is the dumbest thing in the entire world," says Alex. Emma nods from the passenger's seat of his car, mascara running down her face with the tears she can't hold back.

"Are you mad?" she asks.

Alex looks over at her, and she can tell he's confused. "Shouldn't you be worried about your dad? He's the one you're going to have to explain sneaking out and going to a party to."

She shakes her head no. "He's on a business trip, and Izzy's staying over with a friend. You're the only one who knows." Alex stares at the road, and his eyes narrow. Emma is afraid she's made him angrier, and that's the last thing she wants to do to the guy who's her ride home.

"I'm not mad at you," he says after a while, but she's not sure he means it. He sounds upset.

She doesn't realize that the thick knot of anger rising up in his chest has nothing to do with her. It's directed at an absent father and distracted sister who were too busy to drive across town and find a crying little girl on the front steps of a house where she had no business being.

Finally, the car stops in front of the Woodhouse mansion, and Emma gets out, standing forlornly in the nighttime breeze. Alex stands in front of her, his arms folded. "You know why this was a bad idea, right?"

She nods, and he continues, "You could have been hurt or killed. They have alcohol and drugs at those parties. You're too young, and anyway, nobody should be doing that." He sounds like a video from health class, but a weight rolls off Emma's chest. If Alex is lecturing, he's not _that _mad. She lets the words caress her, feeling relief.

"Badly done, Emma," he finishes, but he pulls her in for a one-armed hug, and he doesn't seem angry at all.

**Nineteen Years Old**

"You're way too intelligent for this," says Alex. Emma sits opposite him in her living room, crossing and uncrossing her legs.

"But my dad did just fine without a degree," she contends, hearing how weak her own voice sounds.

"Sure, but that's because he had to. He's worked his head off so you and Izzy don't have to deal with the same obstacles. And anyway, if you wanted to drop out of school, you should have waited until the end of the semester and talked it over with your family."

Emma bristles. "Maybe it's just that you can't handle me making decisions you don't agree with, _Mr. Knightley_." He only smiles, which infuriates her.

"We both know how this goes down," he says. "If you sweet talk your dad, he'll agree to anything. But this is about you, about your own self-respect and commitment." Emma settles back into the sofa cushions. She doesn't know when she started not minding Knightley lectures. They're part of home, like fleece blankets and hot cocoa.

Three days later, she's in her car on the way back to school, with "badly done, Emma" echoing in her mind. It's strangely comforting.

**Twenty-Five Years Old**

She doesn't understand why no one seems to think she can handle a simple baby shower and a celebrity club opening at the same time. She's Emma Woodhouse, for crying out loud! Truthfully, it wouldn't matter what anyone else thought if Alex wasn't such a doubter. For some reason, his disbelief rankles more than anyone else's.

Then, well, the best laid plans don't go exactly as planned, and she finds herself backpedaling in the fast lane, with too much on her plate and not enough time.

There's always time for a Knightley lecture. She settles into his office chair, ready to argue. It's the equilibrium of the world, really, Alex scolding and her defending. It's a little bit like Vindaloo Curry or Spiced Mexican Chocolate. A little bracing and hard to swallow, but it cleanses the palate.

She says her lines. He says his. She waits.

But he doesn't say it. He never says, "Badly done, Emma."

She doesn't want to admit it to herself, but something feels off, like the circle hasn't quite closed. Sometimes three words are awfully important, as significant as a hug or a smile or the assurance of forgiveness. There's a rhythm to Alex Knightley, and she doesn't know why, but that rhythm is off. She feels cold on the inside.


	3. Badly Done II

**Warning: Spoilers for Emma Approved Episode 64: Boxx Hill**

**Today**

She's not expecting the scolding this time, but as soon as the words "Maddie Bates" come out of his mouth, she's ready for it. Well, not quite as ready as she'd be without Jane weighing heavily on her mind, but ready enough. After all, if things go as they usually do, she'll come out of it feeling better, not worse.

Maybe that open circle can close itself after all. If Mr. Knightley is back to scolding, he's back to normal. And that's good, right? Except, this time isn't like the other times. Any of the other times.

Oh, it starts that way, with Alex sitting close to her and giving her his full attention, making sure she's listening, just like he has since she was five. But then he starts talking, and Emma feels the cold inside her turn to ice.

He's made her cry before, never one to spare the initial pain if it's for a good reason. He's too principled and too consistent a person for that. He's also cursed before. Not often, but it's happened. He's even raised his voice before, once or twice.

The thing he's never done is leave.

Emma has years of memories etched in her mind, memories that some people might expect to be negative and painful. But they're precious, because of how they end. Emma can't remember a single time when Alex Knightley has ever left her sad. There's always forgiveness, a half-smile, a joke to break the tension. If she's crying, there's always a hug.

Even as she tries to hold back her tears, part of Emma feels like she's heading toward the usual resolution. Mr. Knightley will push. She will push back, then finally admit his point. He will say "badly done, Emma," and she'll be lucky enough to find herself in his arms on a very difficult day.

But it doesn't work like that today. Oh, he says his line, but instead of being comforting, it's like a slap in the face. He's never said it quite that way before. He should be reaching for her, pulling her close to comfort her. He always hates to see her cry. Instead, he pushes away.

She can't believe her eyes as Alex Knightley gets up, leaves, and doesn't even look back. She chases him. What else is there to do? Emma Woodhouse doesn't chase anyone. They chase her. But when the love of your life is leaving forever, there's nothing else to do.

Realization hits her like a brick, and it's way too late.


	4. Best

**Best**

**Six Years Old**

Izzy performs the wedding ceremony between giggles. Emma is wearing a tablecloth as a veil and a frilly pink party dress. Alex is wearing jeans and a sweater. He doesn't laugh. He takes Emma's hand as gravely as if they were thirty years old and in church. When Izzy says, "You may kiss your bride," he leans forward and kisses Emma's forehead. She smiles.

Later that night, as Izzy brushes out her little sister's hair, she thinks out loud, "I wonder who we'll actually marry?"

Emma jerks away from the brush and turns around. "When I grow up, I'm going to marry Alex again," she says, with all the weight of a pint-sized prophet.

**Twenty Years Old**

Alex looks through a stack of photos, pulling out the best ones for the album Izzy is putting together for Emma's twentieth birthday. The first few are painful in a good way, photos of the Knightleys and Woodhouses together, when Mr. Woodhouse had a beautiful woman on his arm instead of an empty place at his dinner table.

Underneath those, he finds a more recent photo, slightly aged but still clear, of a tiny Emma in a pink party dress. On the back, it reads, "I thought you might want this one, Alex, to help you remember you're a married man. Love, Izzy 1995." He remembers the day, and he remembers what Izzy Woodhouse told him that night about the funny thing Emma said.

One memory turns to many more, until Alex finds himself sitting on his bedroom floor thinking about days and weeks and months and years, all of them punctuated by the existence of one girl. One realization emerges, and it makes him blush, not that there's anyone around to see.

_When she grows up, I'm going to marry Emma again_.

**Twenty-Five Years Old**

She takes another bite of ice cream and clutches the photo closer. It's of her, aged six, wearing a lace tablecloth and holding Alex Knightley's hand.

Why did she ever let go? She wonders. There have been so many chances, so many days she could have acknowledged that he was right, eaten her words, been a better version of herself. But now it's too late.

They've been married for nineteen years, but they will never marry again. She cries.

**Twenty-Six Years Old**

They are both on time to the church. Alex hasn't seen Emma. She wouldn't have minded, but he's too traditional to ruin the surprise. He puts on his suit. Only he knows that in his pocket is a tiny square of fabric cut from a green sweater he hasn't worn in fifteen years. Good luck, best luck, a piece of the sweater he wore to his first wedding.

He takes his place at the front of the church and smiles as Izzy and Harriett come in, radiant and beautiful in their chiffon dresses. The music plays, and he feels calm, ready, as steady as he's ever been. Until the bride walks down the aisle.

After the wedding, the photographer says the photo of his face when he first saw Emma is the best picture she's ever taken. Everyone smiles, claps him on the back, congratulates him, says they can understand a groom being overcome by such a beautiful bride.

Only Emma knows the real reason he cried. It wasn't her beauty or her grace. It wasn't the anticipation. It was the first and last time in his life that Alex Knightley ever cried over a color. His bride wore a pink wedding dress.

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks to everyone for reading. Emma Approved was a fabulous series, and I've had a blast writing this. **


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